


From The Depths Of A Breaking Mind

by Take_Me_To_My_Fragile_Dreams



Series: The Broken Ones [1]
Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alec has a fucked up life, Alec is just the one who has to deal with them, Anger, Angst, Anorexia, Bitterness, Cutting, Depression, Diary/Journal, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Everybody has their problems, Gen, Letters, Mental Breakdown, Notes, Overdosing, Possibly Triggering, Razors, Suicidal Thoughts, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-30 21:37:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Take_Me_To_My_Fragile_Dreams/pseuds/Take_Me_To_My_Fragile_Dreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alec is breaking. And no one really seems to care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wishing and Breaking

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a series of one-shots involving whatever horrible scenarios I put Alec in (because I'm an oh so nice person like that).  
> So needless to say, if you don't like angst you should back away and pretend as if you've never seen this before.

They're pushing you. Pushing and tugging and clawing at your mind-- at your sanity and well being. They're breaking you. Destroying you. Just like what Jace has always said, 'To love is to destroy.' And your loved ones are certainly destroying you.  
You don't know if they see it, don't know if they even _care_ if they do, but you try to hide it. You try to grin and bear the strain and help them because they're struggling and you _need_ to help. It's your job to help, to protect them. But it's been building you think. Your breaking that is. You used to be able to shed a few tears every time they insulted themselves or said something upsetting and you would be fine. Like how Magnus is always trying to drop a few pounds, never willing to pick up a slice of food despite the fact that he's practically skin and bones. Or how Izzy sneaks the razors from the bathroom at night before asking you a few days later to buy more band aids and Neosporin. Or how Jace is always disappearing to the bathroom only to come back with a suspiciously blank look in his eyes, the pills once hidden away in the cabinet doing who knows what to his body. But now, it's like there's a parasite under your skin, burrowing deeper and deeper into unreachable places that only make you want to dig all the deeper for it when you use your blades. Their words make you itch and burn, sends this furious restlessness thrumming through your veins that makes you writhe and claw at your skin. You're not sure what it is. Whether you're angry or restless or sorrowful or anything else. All you know is that it's scary and makes you stupid and one day it's going to cause you to kill yourself. You know it.  
And yet you can't find it in yourself to speak up. To tell then to stop. To shake them and scream what you want.  
Because what you want is to force Magnus to eat. What you want is to throw away all the razors and make sure Izzy never touches one again. What you want is to flush all of Jace's pills down the toilet. What you want is to hit and punch and tear and bleed and just _talk_ to someone, among all the other things you cannot do. Things you would never do. At least not to them.  
So you start punching walls. You start digging things into your skin again, over and over again until it is an inflamed red and hurts under the lightest touch. You scream into your pillow and kick at things. You cry and tear at yourself and break.  
Because honestly?  
You don't know what to do anymore.  
This situation is so hopeless, so insane, so utterly _fucked_ that you don't... You don't-  
You don't know.  
It's hard to find the strength to fight anymore. It's hard to argue against people who simply shake their heads and hurt you more deeply than any wound you could inflict on yourself with a mere choice of words. You want to stop this. You want to stop caring and stop existing. You want to tear at yourself until nothing is left. You want to be left alone, away from civilization and people and hurt. You want to end.  
And at the same time you don't. Because they've gotten better before and you can't simply give up on the hope that that will happen again, or more adequately, you can't give up on _them_. They are what keeps you to this world and pushes you off it. They are what heal and wound you. They are what saves and kills you.  
They are your destruction.  
They are your salvation.  
You just wish loving them didn't hurt so fucking much.

_-From the Depths Of A Breaking Mind_


	2. Soon It'll Be Too Late (So What's The Difference?)

It's wrong, you know it. You know you should stop too. That it's hurting them but right now you just can't seem to fucking care. Because you're hurting too and you're sick. Utterly sick from this. The strain is too much and you just can't get your feet under you anymore. Which of course, means that they have to deal with their own problems.  
And which also reminds you that one day, one of them (or who knows? Maybe you'll be the oh so _lucky_ person you are and it will be both) will die. You feel this should wake you up, make you jump up and help, but now you're just tired. You're waiting for the day that they'll leave you alone. Waiting for the day when you can break a promise to two dead loved ones who didn't even care enough to keep their own promises. And then you will join them in death.  
You've been longing for it more and more. The stain of keeping three people alive is hard and not something you're built for, not something you can withstand like you'd originally thought. But no one seems to care. And what does it matter after all, if you break? Everyone just assumes the pieces will be able to fit back together, and that good old Alec Lightwood will get up again, smile and help others. But that's just it.  
You can't.  
You fucking _can't_.  
And maybe one day they'll see that and get out of their heads full of misery and self hate and try to fix you. But at that point you know it will be too late. You'll be gone and they'll be left to deal with themselves.  
What an utterly selfish thing for you to do.  
But then again, they've planned the same thing haven't they? Been so utterly selfish and have left, have tried to die.  
What's the difference if you do the same?

_-From the Depths Of A Breaking Mind_


	3. To Have No One (There)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a different style but it fit with this verse and I didn't want to change it  
> plusI'mreallytired

He doesn't know how long he lays like this, face hidden behind layers of blankets in the dark with music blaring in his ears, loud enough to make his ears ache and body twitch to the beat and yet just barely enough to drown out the sound of his thoughts. This, this madness that he is fighting against, is helped made tame by the noise. Alec doesn't like the silence, doesn't like what it makes him think about, doesn't like the room he has to fill with himself, doesn't like--just doesn't like. So the music saves him. Saves him like people can't because of course he doesn't have people who can help him, help drown out the whispers and screams and secrets clawing at his mind and sanity.  
He's long since grown used to this of course. He doesn't like asking for what he needs, feels pathetic and weak and useless to need others the way he does, so he locks himself up, shuts away his feelings like always and smiles. Smiles because that's all he can do isn't it? Lie and smile and reassure those that actually ask that _yes, he's perfectly fine, thank you, how about you?_  
It's rather pathetic that he actually wishes that they'd catch the lie and pursue the truth. But he's too difficult, makes them work for it and gives them multiple chances to back out from finding the truth and as always, they do.  
Maybe one day he'll find that one person that'll understand what he needs, or maybe one day someone will break the chains he keeps himself in and help him learn how to ask for what he needs, he doesn't know.  
Alec sighs tiredly, closing his eyes and turning the volume up--always up--as he turns onto his side restlessly. He's so utterly tired, so done with being lonely, of fighting back the barely contained ocean of pure _hurt_ slamming against his thinly built walls like a tidal-wave day after day. He needs help, he knows he does, but he just-  
The people who could help, who he needs, can't. Or wouldn't. He's having trouble making the distinction now-a-days. Another thing he needs to work on.  
Though, Alec knows that when you do what he does, shut down and contain everything that makes something human, it comes with a cost. He cannot keep this up and not--not take leaps back from where he was now. He'd gotten better, made progress--  
But he couldn't anymore.  
Couldn't be open, couldn't let every little wave of pain escape and show itself on the surface. No one was there to deal with it, least of all him.  
All he can do is mend his breaking walls and do his best to drown out the silence that makes it too easy to go insane.  
So yes, Alec turns up the music, as loud as it'll go, closes his eyes, and dreams of a life, a future perhaps, where someone will be there to hold him and fill the silence with their voice or heartbeat, and keep him intact. But for now, this music? It's all he has.


End file.
